


Army of One

by DarkElements10



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gang Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkElements10/pseuds/DarkElements10
Summary: With a B.A.U member back from the dead, shifting team responsibilities, and fractured trusts, a case consultant with ulterior motives is the last thing the B.A.U need to deal with. A consultant whom has lived a dark lifestyle, suffered its consequences, and knows that working with the police could cost them more than they could ever imagine.Especially while working on an ongoing case with a slowly uncovered pattern of bank robbery related deaths. With a collective knowledge of the streets, and the battles brought closer to home than before, the B.A.U. must learn to rebuild their family, and trust someone who believes that going it alone is what has kept them safe. So far.
Kudos: 4





	1. Surveillence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find this fanfic on FFN under the same username. At the time of posting this here, it's up to chapter 3 on FFN, but I'll be adding the other two soon.

**ONE**

Aaron Hotchner needed a drink. 

Whether it was a warm, inviting cup of freshly brewed coffee at the beginning of what was bound to be a long day, or a crisp, hard beer after a challenging case, it was one of the first thoughts that would cross his mind. Of course, his son was always at the forefront of his thoughts. Jack was the first person he thought of when he woke up, and the last person Hotch thought of before going to sleep. He did, and would do, everything for his son. Even if that meant being away from him for days at a time. The more Jack grew up, and the more life events that were missed, the more guilty Hotch felt.

If keeping everybody in the country safe meant that he was keeping his son safe, then he would his job to the best of his ability. His job was an important part of society and he took it seriously. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Before he had even joined the FBI, as he worked as a district attorney, he would spend hours poring over case files, preparing himself for trials to the detriment of his family. It was normal for him, after all, he saw his father do the exact same thing.

Hotch knew his family was getting the short end of the string regarding himself and his time. The B.A.U was his family. If there was anyone in his life that he knew undoubtedly had his back the moment he stepped out his front door, it was his team. Even he couldn’t dispute this work-family saw him a lot more than his real family did at times. It was why he enjoyed his days off so much. For a moment, he could put 100% of his focus on his family. As best he could. Crime didn’t stop just because he had a full twenty-four hours without carrying his badge on him. That much he witnessed firsthand.

Shaking his head sharply, Hotch stopped the intrusive thoughts from rearing its ugly head once again. He needed to keep his mind on the job. One small slip and terrible things could happen. Allowing a sigh to push past his lips, expelling all the negative thoughts, he set his mind back on the task. He was in a coffee shop. He was on a case. He needed to act natural and do what he needed to do to get information.

There were other reasons for a trip out to the local bar, or coffee shop, as well. His phone ringing with Erin Strauss on the other line was the most frequent reason. But there were others. Trying to slap away the heavy weight of exhaustion in order to charge into the next case full alert was a given. Squashing homesickness and guilt over having to miss another day in Jack's life went without saying. 

But today, it was all part of the case.

The door to the coffee shop swung open with ease, a chime sounding as they crossed the threshold. As he and Dr. Spencer Reid stepped through the doorway, a blast of cold air smacked them in the face. Hotch pulled his sunglasses from his nose and tucked it into the collar of his shirt, squinting against the ambient light. Reid did the same. The cool building was a nice reprieve from the humid St. Louis air. And it was only ten O'clock in the morning. A storm was bound to blow through sooner rather than later, allowing the bustling city to cool down just a tad. The tension, unfortunately, probably wouldn't die down, even after their success in capturing the student who had been terrorizing the other survivors of the past school shooting. 

"I can take you over here." The accented voice was the first thing Hotch noticed. Nothing that stood out, but different than what he was used to hearing back in Virginia. Different from the other voices he could hear in the shop, subtly so. People even said _he_ had an accent from time to time. Being from the East Coast, and his years of training, anything that differed from his normal he would instantly clock on to. Maybe it would be information he needed. Maybe it was just a passing observation as he read the room. Hotch looked past the long line of people and saw a hand waving in the air. Gently nudging Reid on the arm, he made a beeline for the waving hand. 

"Ah, you're back." The woman behind the counter regarded them behind a set of glasses. Her lips lifted into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The "customer service" smile. Or maybe it was just the practiced smile suggesting she was trained well for the job but wasn't trying to insinuate anything further. There probably wasn’t much of a difference. She was simply being polite. "Didn't think you'd swing back around before your trip was over." Placing her hands on the counter, the woman rapped her knuckles on the top in a short rhythm. "Are you extending or," she chuckled, “do businesses usually schedule free time for their employees on trips like this?"

Hotch allowed a fleeting smile to pass his features. "Not usually."

"Ok, so that's a tall americano for you,” the woman shifted her gaze from Hotch to Reid, “and a tall light roast with extra sugar for you." 

"Right." Reid nodded. His eyebrows angled towards each other. "How'd you know that?"

"Magic.” Hotch watched Reid’s eyebrows lift, his lips twitch. A correction was on the tip of his tongue, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The side of the woman’s mouth ticked upwards into a humorless smile. “And you've ordered the same thing every time you've stopped in here.” She looked the two men up and down. “And it makes sense." The silence between them was punctuated by the sound of her nail tapping on the touch screen of the register. Hotch handed over cash payment and soon the silence was broken by the sound of the cash drawer popping open, and their receipt printing.

Hotch exchanged glances with Reid, widening his eyes slightly in a poignant stare. Reid cleared his throat and took a small step forward. The extended counter pressed into Reid’s stomach. "Um, so, where are some places you like to go around here?" he asked, his words punctuated with “uh” and clearing of his throat. “We’ve just been wondering…”

The barista didn't answer for a moment. In the silence, she made a half turn to the side and checked to see if any of the additives needed to be replenished. It was an easy question, too. For her. But her answer could hold a lot of weight for himself and Reid. For wherever she mentioned, Hotch would dispatch other members of his team to keep an eye out on her.

Whenever asked by visitors, people always gave answers to places they frequented the most. The places they had the most experience with, and could answer any question, honestly, about the establishment: "Stay away from the special of the day", "I prefer their pies for dessert, but you can't go wrong with a sundae." And it's like what everyone said about travelling: it was always better to ask the locals.

Also, Hotch had to recognize, Reid’s question could come off as unwanted attention during an otherwise normal work shift. Inwardly, Hotch cringed. But he knew that Reid could assess the situation and talk his way out of it. No matter how long it took. Outwardly, he kept the same neutral expression on his face.

"I apologize.” Reid cleared his throat again. “I know how that sounded. I promise I wasn't asking you out or, or anything."

The woman briefly ticked an eyebrow upwards. Even Hotch had to hold back a scoff. Surely, she had heard a line like that plenty of times during the day. "You're ok, dude. I was just thinking about what’s going in town,” the woman ripped the receipt out of the machine, holding it out towards the two men, sandwiched between her forefinger and thumb. Hotch took the receipt, quickly glanced “Food truck festival is this weekend; outdoor cinema at the park, that kind of thing." Her eyes shifted to Reid. "And, hey, I think you might like Hudson's down the street."

"Why do you say that?" Reid asked, blinking in surprise at the sudden personal comment.

"It's a game bar." Reid stared at her, mouth opening and closing before he pulled a face. "No, no, a _game_ bar. Old school games; chess, checkers, dominoes, board games. Dungeons and Dragons. Might be up your alley." When she shrugged, Hotch watched her gaze linger for a moment on the bag hanging off his shoulder. "And if not, plenty of places to just sit and read. Library's not too far away, either."

"How'd you know I like to read?"

"You've had your bag packed tight with books for a while, right?" She lifted the hem of her shirt, showing off a round-ish, white outline in her jeans pockets that stood out against the dark wash coloring of the material. Reaching in, she retrieved her phone that was wedged sideways into the space and waved it in the air before putting it back, using her thumb to wedge her phone back into place. "Done this so much with my phone, it stretched the fabric. Your bag did the same." Reid clutched his bag and bent his head to check. Even Hotch looked and he did, indeed, find marks where corners of books stretched the material of Reid’s bag to its limit. "And you look like the studious type."

“Oh, thanks,” Reid said with a smile.

“Anyway, if you’re more into the nightlife,” the woman said, crossing her arms to lean against the counter, “there are plenty of bars in town. If you want to watch a game, I’d suggest Tillys; want a more casual place, go to the Tavern, and The Gateway for your younger crowd.” She angled her head, eyes shifting past them to the person in line behind them. A silent dismissal.

Hotch quickly took the hint and thanked her for her time before moving off into the corner to wait for their order to be called. Sliding his hands into his pants pockets, he turned around to face Reid. “What do you think? What did you get from that?”

“Definitely in the age group of bar patrons,” Reid replied, using a hand to push his hair back from his face. “About 70% of patrons visit the same type of bars whenever they go out. Anything she just mentioned to us, she has probably frequented herself a time or two.” He pushed a breath past his lips, and for a moment they flapped together. “And she wasn’t wearing her nametag.”

“At least not in a position easily visible to the public,” Hotch agreed with a slow nod of his head. “Clearly, she doesn’t want anyone to know her name.”

“That begs the question does she not want anyone to know her name?” Reid suggested.

“Or someone specifically,” Hotch concluded. “Or multiple someones.” He pressed his lips together. “Reid, there was a reason why I didn’t have Morgan come with me. There’s also another reason I didn’t have JJ or Prentiss here, either.”

Reid’s eyebrows came towards each other, a deep frown of thought appearing on his face. Hotch took the time to look around the room, his gaze briefly pausing on just how great the weather was outside. He heard their order called and moved to retrieve their cups of coffee. After deciphering between the two, he lifted his to go cup to his mouth and took a long sip. Holding Reid’s coffee out towards him, Hotch waited for the usual glint of understanding to come to the young profiler’s eye.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“It was us,” Reid said, snapping his head upwards. “We’ve been in here every day. Asking her questions about the city.” Hotch licked the remnants of his sip of coffee and continued to wait. “You didn’t want Morgan here because he _would_ have flirted with her.” Hotch gave a slight nod of his head, agreeing with Reid. “And Prentiss and JJ…” Reid gave himself some more time to think, taking a long sip of his coffee. He lifted his hand to rub his chin as he thought, slowly swallowing. Reid’s eyes widened as he looked Hotch in the eye. His lips parted, jaw dropping slightly. “They would have hit it off right away. I mean, there are more and more reports of women being more cruel to other women compared to men, statistically women face more bullying than men, but—”

“Knowing Prentiss and JJ, that’s not anything we’d really have to worry about,” Hotch replied.

“You _wanted_ her to put her guard up,” Reid explained. “Morgan would have turned up his charm, but—”

“Seeing how she was when you made sure she understood that you weren’t, in fact, hitting on her,” Hotch commented and Reid shifted his weight from foot to foot, “I can only imagine how she’d react if Morgan came along with me. Besides, Morgan’s not her type.”

“And you think I’m safe,” Reid declared.

“I think you were the perfect person for this exact situation,” Hotch replied with a slight shake of his head. “We all have our special moments, Reid. You’re about her age, non-imposing, and confirmed to her that you like playing chess and reading.” Yes, he did know that Reid was the best person for this job. You didn’t have to be an FBI profiler to learn things about people just by watching them. And Hotch had seen how any guy who thought he had a chance with this barista attempted to sweet talk her. Even further, he had seen how she handled the situation. “Plus, you regularly carry a gun and your marksmanship over the years has gotten a lot better. Of course, I think you’re safe.” 

Pulling his mouth to the side, Reid followed Hotch to the door. Both men slid their sunglasses down over their noses as they stepped out into the humid air. “Maybe we should have given the iced coffee a second thought,” Reid commented, using his free hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. “You think that was enough to go off of?”

“We’ve managed a lot more with a lot less,” Hotch reminded him. Reid hummed in agreement. Coming up to a street corner, Hotch pressed his thumb into the button to change the crosswalk signal. “Reid, if you were told that you were going to be a recipient of a Nobel Peace Prize, who would be the first person you’d tell?”

Reid’s lips parted into a smile that lit up his face. “Well, my mom, of course,” he replied. “She’s always said I’d win it one day.” Hearing the sadness suddenly fill Reid’s voice, Hotch turned to look at the younger boy, noticing his smile had faded slightly. “But she might not remember it for long.”

“But that wouldn’t stop you from running to tell her the news first thing.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Why?”

“When Hayley told me that she was pregnant with Jack, I wanted to tell everybody that I was going to be a dad, I was so happy,” Hotch explained. “Happy, sad, neutral, frustrated, no matter what happens in our lives, we have people to go tell our news. What do we do after a hard day of work?”

“Go to a bar, or have dinner, gather at Rossi’s,” Reid replied. He nodded his head, partially to indicate that they had the walk symbol indicating they could cross the street, and to show that he, as usual, had caught on to what Hotch was saying. “She’s bound to go out with her friends.”

“To one of the places she had just recommended to us,” Hotch agreed as they started across the street. “Everybody gravitates to places they feel the most relaxed. The safest. Where you have a great rapport with the staff, or it has the best quality of products. Even we do it; going to Rossi’s for the company or to our favorite restaurants, and bars. We got a lot information from her, Reid. Don’t worry.”

Reid hummed, adjusting his sunglasses.

Soon, they were back in their hotel and they both made a beeline for the conference room. Hotch rapped his knuckles on the glass to the door, catching the attention of the men and women in the room. Their casual conversation ended when Hotch and Reid slipped inside.

“No cinnamon rolls?” Derek Morgan asked the second the door clicked shut behind them. He sat in the first chair to Hotch’s left. Arms crossed over his chest, he rocked back and forth in his seat.

“Yeah,” Emily Prentiss said, from where she stood hovering over the conference phone, a bit further away from the group. “I don’t think it’s fair we all had to be up this early, but you’re the only two getting coffee.”

David Rossi, the senior member of the group, sitting to Morgan’s left, lifted his finger in the air. “I second the notion,” he said with a half-smile. “Us older few need some help getting around in the morning, I’ll be the first to admit.”

Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, who sat two spaces away from Prentiss, angled her chair to rest her elbow on the arm rest, placing her chin on her fist. “How’d it go?” she asked. Her gaze shifted over to Reid who was suddenly interested in removing the lid of his coffee cup to look at the contents inside.

“We’ll move in tonight,” Hotch replied, setting his coffee cup down onto the table. He stood behind the chair at the head of the table, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “Reid and I have multiple locations to send you to. As soon as we get sight of Charlotte, we’ll roll over to the location, covering all exits, no lights, no sirens. We’ll inform Strauss and the SLPMD of the game plan before we do so.”

“Strauss is going to wonder why we didn’t take our chance now, Hotch,” Morgan commented, leaning forward in his seat. He rest his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do know that,” Hotch replied. He also knew that Strauss would continue to attempt to get in contact with him throughout the day, leaving message after message if he didn’t answer fast enough for her. “And I will handle Strauss when the time comes. Until she joins us out on the field, this is the plan we’re going with.”

“Whatever you say,” Morgan agreed with a sigh. He kept his tone light, but Hotch could still hear the tight undertone to this voice.

And he knew where it was coming from. Just the way his team was all seated indicated the separation between them and Prentiss. Hotch briefly shifted his gaze over to Prentiss who gently bit down on her bottom lip before clearing her throat, swinging her hair out of her face. Then a moment later, the look of guilt was gone, replaced by a look of focus on the job at hand. Hotch looked around the room and saw that same exact look on his team’s faces.

They had a lot to talk about, but he knew it wasn’t going to be something one night at Rossi’s or a trip to the bar would fix. Not this time. Not that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple years ago I did a huge binge of every single episode of Criminal Minds (it was only seasons 1-13 at the time), and absolutely fell in love with this show. Since then, I knew I wanted to write a fic for the fandom…and then proceeded to put it off for a long while, haha. But here it finally is! 
> 
> This is set during Criminal Minds’ 7th season; it’s one of my favorites, and the season I was watching when I first came up with this story idea. And the season I re-watched first when planning out how this fic, and maybe series, would go.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. I am so excited to really get going working on this fanfic. Thank you for taking the time to read this new story. 
> 
> -Rhuben


	2. Won't Duck and Run

**TWO**

“Thanks,” Hotch said when he felt his FBI emblazoned safety vest tighten around his back. Adjusting the shoulder straps to his vest, making sure it fit snug against him, he turned around to face Rossi who was leaning up against a sleek black vehicle. “Is the team ready?”

“Anytime,” Rossi replied, already in his own vest. “Morgan and Reid are already heading to their location, as are Prentiss and JJ. It’s just us that’s left.”

“Let’s get rolling,” Hotch replied. He looked up at the darkening St. Louis sky as a warm breeze ruffled his hair. “We don’t want any of them to get too comfortable.”

“I’ve sent a few patrol units to back up your team.” Hotch turned towards the SLMPD detective that made his way towards him. Hotch quickly read his name tag and offered his hand to Sergeant Nichols. “The Black Hearts Gang has been tough for us to catch. We do appreciate all of this.”

“Of course, Sergeant Nichols,” Hotch replied. He introduced himself and Rossi.

“Anything we can do to help,” Rossi said, shaking Sergeant Nichols’s hand.

“Help?” Sergeant Nichols said with a laugh. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been giving this city a breath of fresh air, it’s needed for a long, long time. Any way we can help _you_ , we are happy to do.”

“You remembered to tell your fellow officers to roll up to these locations, no lights, no sounds?” Rossi asked.

“Of course,” Sergeant Nichols agreed. “We’ll follow you the same way. You’re leading this operation. We’ll follow your lead.”

“Then let your men know to be ready to change locations if, and when, that opportunity arrives,” Hotch replied. “Same details applied. We better get the wheels rolling now. We may be sitting for a bit.”

“You’ve got it.” Sergeant Nichols headed towards his vehicles, motioning for the last few of his officers to get in their cars.

Hotch and Rossi climbed into the driver and passenger seats respectively of Hotch’s car and they pulled out into traffic, heading straight into downtown St. Louis. Rossi adjusted his seat belt over his chest before checking his phone. “The others are in position; they’ll call if Charlotte appears at any of their locations.”

“Good, good.” Hotch kept his eyes on the road as he drove, occasionally checking his rear and side-view mirrors to make sure the police force was still following him.

“Aaron, it couldn’t have been a surprise to you to see how the others paired off,” Rossi said after a moment of silence.

“No,” Hotch agreed with a sigh through his nose, “it wasn’t.” If he were being honest, he wouldn’t have chosen any differently. His team were doing the right thing, being civil while working on the case. Anyone could feel that underlying tension if they paid close enough attention. If partnering up in a certain way meant that the case was their top priority, and not their underlying issues, then he would make the same decision. “I’m sorry to say a night at casa Rossi wasn’t the magic solution we needed.”

“I’ve seen magical things happen after a plate of spaghetti, ok?” Rossi said. “It’s what I grew up with. It’s what I’m used to. We’d bond over making dinner together, _eating_ dinner together no less. I thought it might help, that’s all.”

“It was a fun time. Thanks again for having us over.” He took his eyes off the road and looked over at Rossi, finding him already facing him. “The FBI just doesn’t train you for something like this.”

“Nothing in life could ever train you for something like this,” Rossi corrected him. “I don’t envy you for having to make a decision like that.”

“Yeah, thanks.” After a few minutes of driving, he pulled over at the far end of the parking lot and killed the engine. “You think I made the right decision with Emily?”

“I don’t think there was any other choice to make,” Rossi replied. “This was her life on the line, Aaron. It wasn’t a case we could just close the files on and move on to the next thing. We all knew this was something different.” Hotch slowly nodded, tapping his thumbs on the edge of the steering wheel. “We never know what this job will entail. We all know we must make choices at the drop of a hat. If your instincts told you that this was the best decision you could make to keep Emily safe, then that’s all there is to it.”

“If only it was truly that simple,” Hotch commented.

“The most important thing, Aaron, is that you get your team back home safe every single time,” Rossi said.

“I know you’re right,” Hotch replied. “I know they’re all happy that Prentiss is ok. I know they’re glad that she’s back. I know I can’t force them to act like it didn’t happen, or to get over how they’re feeling.” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering over towards the people walking up the sidewalk. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Do what you’ve always done,” Rossi replied. “Lead them.” Hotch hummed. “Everything will work itself out. It always does.”

“I know.” Hotch settled back in his seat before looking over at Rossi. “Thank you, David.”

“Of course.”

They had been seated at their location, watching the citizens of St. Louis as they traversed the street, for thirty minutes when Hotch and Rossi’s phones rang. It was nice to see people out on the streets, still enjoying life. Their job felt like being in a bubble at times. While he and his team were flying back and forth across the country, people felt safe enough to go out and partake in late activities. Still, they were there for a job, and they snapped back to when Rossi answered the phone and they were greeted with Morgan saying, “We’ve spotted her.” Morgan’s voice filled the otherwise quiet space of the car. “At the Tavern. We’re sending a picture over now.”

“There were only one of five or six places where she would be tonight based on the profile she inadvertently gave us,” Prentiss said. “At least we didn’t have to wait that long.”

“For as demanding a job customer service is, there was a good chance that Charlotte would appear here or anywhere quiet,” Reid said. “There are those that really enjoy the night life, but it’s shown the older one gets, the more relaxed and quiet times people look forward to after work to wind down.”

“As soon as I’m back at home, I’m in my pajamas,” Prentiss said. “And good luck getting me out of them on my day off.”

“We still had to make sure all of our bases were covered,” Rossi said. Hotch blinked when Rossi’s phone was suddenly held in front of his face. He blinked a few times against the brightness of the light cutting through the darkness. For a moment, he didn’t realize what he was seeing in the picture; part of it had captured just how dark it was outside, with a swatch of it capturing the image of a young woman standing under a streetlight. “Is it her?”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t think it was, but upon closer examination, he could see that it was the woman they were looking for. Charlotte’s hair, that Hotch had remembered seeing every time he visited the coffeeshop, was always put in a ponytail or pigtails. Both styles making her younger-looking than she was. Minimal makeup. Now, her hair was slicked upwards into a sort of mohawk. Dark make-up lined her eyes and instead of her usual work uniform wore a more relaxed outfit in jeans and a t-shirt, covered by a black light coat.

“That’s her,” Hotch confirmed, quickly checking over his shoulder before swerving into the lane beside him. “We’re on our way to your location now.”

“We’re headed over there, too,” JJ said. “We’re notifying the officers with us, now. We’ll see you in a bit.”

As soon as they reached the bar, and Hotch killed the engine to his vehicle, his team was already out of their own cars, waiting for them. Police officers stood waiting for their next instructions. “We’re going to cover every exit to this building,” Hotch announced as soon as he slipped out of the driver’s side door. “We’ll cover the front. Everyone keep your guard up.” He reached for his hip and removed his gun from its holster, placing his index finger along the side of the barrel.

At once, police officers walked briskly in formation around the sides of the building, crouching down beside cars, and slipping into the night. Hotch made a beeline for the front door, retrieving his badge and holding it up to the bar’s security guard. Before the man could even say a word, Hotch had looked him in the eye and said, “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner of the FBI. You are going to walk inside, and you will tell your bosses that we are coming in, but you will not tip off any of the patrons of this establishment. Do you understand?”

The security guard looked Hotch up and down before looking past him to the other agents, and then to the police officers who were situating themselves around the building. Without a word, the man nodded rapidly before heading into the building. Hotch looked over at his team over his shoulder, nodded his head, and then quickly made his way indoors.

As soon as he stepped into the building, loud music thumped every fiber of his being. Orange, and blue, and magenta colored lights swung from one side of the room to the other. All the seated areas – bar stools, and couches, wooden benches, and swings hanging from what looked to be indoor pergolas – were packed with people, all talking and laughing, voices mixing to add to the rolling rumble of noise. Over all of that, Morgan’s loud command of “FBI, show me your hands,” still managed to cut through.

“FBI, don’t move!” Hotch said, stepping through the quickly emptying dance area. Some patrons did as they commanded. Almost too well, barely budging when Hotch pushed past them. Some immediately backed up to the walls of the room, hands above their heads. Some started running, pushing past everyone to head towards the exit closest to then. Head on a swivel, Hotch looked around the room, his eyes landing on their target.

She sat at one of the picnic tables, eyes darting around the room. As Hotch neared her, he could see her tight grip on the edge of the table as she swung her legs around to pull herself up. Could see the muscles in her body tense – ready to propel her out of the area. Hotch quickly noticed her shoes pointing to his left and prepared himself for a quick side-shuffle to block her path. A moment later, she relaxed just slightly.

“Charlotte Sinclair,” Hotch announced, stepping up to her. He grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her to her feet. Prentiss stepped up beside him, gun pointed at the woman. Hotch felt safe enough to tuck his gun back into his holster. As he turned her around, he reached for his handcuffs. “Would you mind coming with us? We have reason to believe that you have been in affiliation with the Black Hearts Gang.”

* * *

“You didn’t run from the bar like the others. Or even attempt to move.”

“It’s not illegal to get a drink.”

Hotch watched as JJ interviewed Charlotte at the local police station. He lifted his hands and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. For hours, it was the same statements with the same responses. They hadn’t gotten much out of Charlotte at all since her arrival at the station. She had sat slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Occasionally, she would shift her seated position, but would still be slumped in her seat.

 _It could be her anxiety_ , he reasoned with himself, but she hadn’t shown any other signs. No picking of her nails. No rapping her knuckles on the table. No twitches. Occasionally, she would lean back in her chair. She seemed comfortable. _But, why?_

Reid was the first to spot something off. Something that jumped out to him in a way that Hotch knew was something to be listened to.

“See, look,” Reid said, pressing his finger against the glass of the observation room. “You ask her a question, and she stops to think before she answers. Whenever she answers. It’s very subtle, but that pause is there.”

“Maybe to keep her story straight?” Rossi suggested.

“If you believe your story enough, you don’t have to stop and think about it,” Prentiss said, shaking her head back and forth.

“Prentiss is right,” Reid agreed. “When people are insistent on keeping to their story, they do whatever they can to not give away the lie. Of course, having the same questions asked repeatedly, stuck in the same room, anyone’s bound to crack, eventually.”

“But she’s staying calm. Trying to stay in control. This is the only thing that doesn’t fit,” Rossi said. “She’s not blatantly looking up and to the left before she answers, but she does stop to think. It’s like she’s trying to decide which is the correct answer.” Reid turned away from the window to face his team. “Remember just last year, in Maryland, with James Barrett and Syd Pearson? We had them take a polygraph test they passed with flying colors because they were, essentially, telling the truth. They believed their truth, because they knew which loophole of the truth they could latch on to. But this…”

“So, what’s the game plan here?” Morgan asked, watching as JJ pushed her chair back from the interrogation table. “I mean, obviously, she’s lying about something.” As JJ left the room, he looked over at Hotch. “What do we do next?”

Reid was the one who answered. “Have her write down her statement,” he said. “I can analyze her handwriting and look for any signs of hesitance and untruthfulness.”

“I’ll help,” Prentiss said.

Hotch pulled his gaze away from the window in just enough time to catch the look Reid tried to hide. It was the polite thing to do, but they all knew that Reid wore his heart out in the open. Not on his sleeve, but as a badge in the center of his chest. Reid could hide his emotions, they all had been trained to control micro-expressions, but it was refreshing to see someone not afraid to express what he was feeling.

They also had been trained to be able to pinpoint micro-expressions and as quickly as Reid could get rid of his, Hotch was just as quick in spotting it; Reid still hadn’t come around with Prentiss’s “revival.” Not that Hotch could blame him. He, and JJ, and Prentiss were doing their jobs at great risk to not only their lives, but hers as well. Part of their jobs, as they all knew, was making tough decisions, and keeping this a secret was one of the hardest decisions Hotch had ever had to make in his entire life. He trusted his team explicitly and still had to go into work, day after day, acting like everything was ok.

It was a test of just how well he could manage his micro-expressions. Though, he couldn’t deny even in the most dire of situations, it was hard to stop himself from allowing his feelings to appear on his face. Especially when someone he cared about was being threatened. Once you allowed it to be shown on your face, anyone could use what they gleamed from an eyebrow furrow, the downturn of lips, to get what they wanted out of you. Even at times like this, when they weren’t getting anywhere with their interrogation, he had to keep up a tough exterior until he left the room. Only then, would he let his frustration show.

The Reaper knew that. And he used it to his advantage.

Hotch sucked in a breath of air. He swallowed. Tried to clear the pain that was evident on his face, and one he knew Rossi would notice in an instant. The same look of pain he saw on Reid’s face a moment before silent anger took over his features. Even then, that didn’t stay on his face before it was replaced with hesitation, then gave way to acceptance.

“Ok,” Reid finally replied after a moment of silence.

“I’ll get it,” JJ offered. “I’ll just tell her we need it written as a backup.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears before shrugging, taking steps backwards towards the door. “Unreliable technology and all that.”

“Morgan and I will let the SLMPD know where we are with everything,” Rossi suggested. He pulled himself out of his chair with a groan. He placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder as the younger man passed and said sagely, “Never get old.”

“I’ll try not to,” Morgan agreed with a laugh, clapping Rossi on the back. He then turned towards Hotch, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s been in there a while, maybe it’s time we offer her some food, too?”

“You can try,” Prentiss said, pulling everyone’s attention to her, “but she’s refused it every time I’ve offered.”

Hotch’s eyebrows came towards each other. They could hold an alleged criminal for up to three days without officially charging them with anything before they had to be released. Even the toughest looking people would eventually break down for a drink or even something to eat. It was not only the humane thing to do, but it built enough trust between whomever they were interrogating that, maybe, it would be easier to get answers from them.

 _But she doesn’t seem to be perceptive of that,_ Hotch thought to himself. _Or she was just used to it._ After all, her rap sheet was evident of how many run-ins she had with the law. It seemed to be old hat for her. _She understands the process really well._ He pulled in a sharp breath of air through his nose a moment later. “Maybe too well,” he said quietly to himself. He looked over at JJ, finding the rest of the team waiting to see what his next orders were. “Go get that written statement.”

With a nod, JJ left the room. Morgan and Rossi followed her, moving in the opposite direction of JJ. “While you two wait for the written statement, I’m going to give Garcia a call,” Hotch said, turning towards the last two members of his team in the room.

“Is everything all right?” Reid asked, curiosity and worry coming to his face.

“Just a hunch,” Hotch replied. Prentiss also adopted a look of curiosity. “Why would someone turn down the chance to eat or drink something?”

“It’s not like we’re actively withholding it from her,” Prentiss said, lifting a hand to tap her chin with her index finger. “Or attempting to use it to get her DNA or anything.”

“Common misconception what with television production being what it is nowadays,” Reid commented, angling his head to the side. “People think court cases are resolved shortly, and that interrogations are quick interviews done very loudly.”

“She could be running out the clock,” Prentiss said, her eyes widening. “We can’t keep her for more than 24 hours without charging her with anything.” She lifted her hand in the air before dropping it down to her side, her hand striking her thigh.

“Anyone who’s been arrested as many times as Charlotte Sinclair has,” Hotch angled his head towards the window, “knows how this works.” Looking through the, they watched as Charlotte sat hunched over the sheet of paper that was given to her. JJ stood next to the table, waiting, arms crossed over her chest. Hotch reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. “But, there’s more than one way to gain experience in everything law.”

“Got it,” JJ said, waving the paper in the air as she re-entered the room. “She had no problem complying with _this_ request at least.”

“Let’s see,” Prentiss said, reaching for the paper. Reid, who had made a beeline for the door as soon as JJ stepped back through it, beat her to it, and took the paper and was already pouring over it, lips moving as he read silently, before she barely took three steps. She muttered a “thanks” when he handed it to her seconds later after flipping it front to back two times. “Looks pretty ordinary to me.”

Hotch stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He reached up his hand to adjust his tie, loosening it just slightly. Not enough to look unprofessional, but just a bit to loosen himself up a little bit, finding his shoulders tense. Queuing up a call to their technical analyst, waiting for Penelope Garcia to chirp her greeting before speaking.

“Garcia,” he said, “we need some more information on Charlotte Sawyer.”

“Anything you need, sir,” Garcia replied. “How can I be of unwavering help, as usual?”

“According to her file, Charlotte Sinclair has previously been arrested and detained for theft, petty theft, retail theft, breaking and entering, and gang affiliation.” As he spoke, he could hear clacking of Garcia’s nails on her keyboard, and rapid clicking of her computer mouse, and her humming in agreement. “I need you to look for anyone else who has been arrested under those exact same charges, but was only detained, never officially charged. Start around her birth date and expand by a couple of years.”

“Why don’t you give me a challenge every once in a while?” Garcia asked. Hotch could hear the smile in her voice and even found himself allowing a chuckle to pass through his nose. “You all get your exercise out there, every day. I’ve got to break a sweat every once in a while, too.”

“So, are you saying we don’t give you enough work?” Hotch asked.

“Enough for a lifetime, not that I’m really complaining,” Garcia relied. “Let me tell you, it still surprises me the things that people want to hide from others. You never know who exactly you’re passing when you’re walking down the street.” Garcia laughed through the line. “I’ll admit though, getting the chance to witness Reid exercising would be just as entertaining as watching Morgan bench press.” She sighed. “I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”

“Got a computer fan big enough to cool yourself down?” Hotch asked. “I do need that information from you.”

“Already lapped you twice,” Garcia said with a cackle of entertainment. “No one can keep up with my pace, I’m telling you. First place, all the way.”

“I’ll have a medal engraved in your honor,” Hotch replied. “You deserve that and more. What have you managed to work out?”

“Ok, so we have a Kane Sinclair, Ellie Sawyer, and Caroline Rook, all with some sort of combination of the crimes you’ve listed, along with simple battery.”

“An alleged gang member would need to know how to defend herself,” Hotch replied, “so that would explain that one charge. And there were no official charges on any of them?”

“None at all,” Garcia replied. “Slipped out of each one like a fish.”

“Alright, thanks Garcia, that’s all I needed,” Hotch said. “I’ll get started on your medal right now.”

“I expect a crowning ceremony in my honor,” Garcia said with a laugh before she ended the call with a _click._

Pressing his lips together, Hotch stared down at his phone, watching as the red numbers that displayed the call length flashed. He was sure that was the piece he needed to figure out what exactly was rubbing him the wrong way about this situation. Multiple people with similar sounding names, all held for the same crimes but never officially arrested? That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Hotch.” Rossi walked up to Hotch, hands in his pockets. “They want us back in the room. Reid and Prentiss found some sort of pattern, or something in the written statement that stands out to them.”

“What did the SLMPD say?” Hotch asked, giving Rossi a nod to indicate he was heard.

“Just that they expect the room to be cleared soon enough,” Rossi replied with a sigh. “Apparently, they’ve had a few of ‘her kind’ come through, with none of the charges sticking. It’s been an issue they are working to crack down on.” Rossi’s chest swelled with a deep sigh. “We may be what turns things around for them.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t we always?”

“You said it,” Hotch agreed. The two men re-entered the room and Hotch made his way to the observation window. Something about this just wasn’t right.

“Well,” Morgan said, joining them a moment later, “I asked what kind of local places around here anyone might think she’d like to get food from, maybe have even seen her frequent. So, we’ve at least got that going for us. If and when she decides she wants to eat.”

“Look at this,” Reid said, practically shoving the written statement into Morgan’s face. Morgan blinked in bewilderment before taking the paper from Reid. Hotch half-turned away from the window to watch the exchange. “What do you see?”

Morgan’s gaze shifted back and forth as he silently read to himself. “I see slanted, curly handwriting and a statement.” Rossi snorted.

“Ok, but what else?” Reid prompted. “Look closer.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Morgan silently stared at Reid for a moment before handing the written statement back to him. “You’ve always been the handwriting analyst, kid, not me.”

“Look at her _spelling_ ,” Reid insisted before quickly rattling off, “realized spelled R-E-A-L-I- _S_ -E-D, organize spelled O-R-A-G-A-N-I- _S_ -E.”

Sighing, Morgan looked back down at the statement he held in his hands. “Color,” Morgan said, “spelled C-O-L-O- _U_ -R.”

“Exactly,” Prentiss said with a nod, “and if you see where she describes distance, she uses meters. M-E-T-R-E-S. It’s possible that she wasn’t trying to keep her story straight. Just how she talked.”

“Come on,” Rossi said with a scoff. “Prentiss, you were just saying earlier that if you’re going to believe your alibi, you wouldn’t let something as simple as writing take you out. You’d cover your bases. Make sure everything is correct down to the exact detail.”

“I know,” Prentiss replied. “That’s why this is so curious.”

“Who doesn’t have typos?” JJ asked. “I mean, you’re talking to the girl who will misspell guacamole as guava on the shopping list.”

“There’s an explanation for that. When you’re writing, spelling and grammar is something you adhere to, but occasionally, you’ll make a mistake,” Reid explained. “This is due in part to writing as quickly as you think. Studies have shown that those with sloppy handwriting are, in fact, thinking faster than their hand can keep up with, thus resulting in indistinguishable, and often misspelled, handwriting. Or, typos.”

Morgan stared at Reid in silence for a moment. “That make so much sense.”

Reid tilted his head to the side, opening and closing his mouth, a confused look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Your handwriting is—never mind.” Morgan waved his hand in the air. “Keep going.”

“When you asked Charlotte to write down her testimony, she didn’t hesitate. Hotch, Prentiss, JJ, and I saw it. She just wrote. No pauses. No places where she lifted her pen from the paper, no moments in which her mind went blank.”

“Spence, where are you going with this?” JJ asked.

“And can you get to it a little faster?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t think her American accent is genuine,” Reid said simply. Hotch turned away from the window and faced Reid, lips forming a thin line. “Every time she’s taken a pause in orally giving her statement, she’s been thinking of how to say her next words. How to say it in American accent, figuring out the appropriate slang. But her writing? Anyone that’s bilingual, or even trilingual must take a moment to stop and think about the correct words and phrases. And while she _is_ speaking English, there’s a certain way to form your mouth to shape the words. With writing, she defaulted back to thinking in her native accent, without realizing it.”

“Why would she need to do that, though?” Morgan asked. “Why go to all this trouble to pretend to be American?”

Hotch had his answer. Never asking for a lawyer, and still hardly talking. Waiting for almost a full day without food. Adding in the information Garcia just gave him, it all made sense now. His heart rammed hard in his chest. A rush of heat – anger, disbelief, and somewhat embarrassment – travelled up his body, gathering around his collar, burned his ears. 

“Because it’s her job,” he said. He got bewildered looks from his team. Spinning on his heels, Hotch made a beeline for the interrogation room. Pushing the door open, the handle struck the wall behind it, pulling Charlotte’s attention towards him.

“You mind telling me,” he said loudly, striding into the room, “why we are currently holding an undercover cop?” Slapping the paper down onto the table, he jabbed his finger to the written text. “Why we have _been_ holding an undercover cop for almost twenty-four hours?” He bit down on his back teeth as he watched the young woman gaze over the paper.

“Hm,” she hummed. Settling back into her seat, she tilted her head back to look up at him. She blinked once. Her lips parted into a hint of a smile, and she said in an accented voice, “Reckon I should introduce myself now, yeah?” Her smile widened. “Name’s Averey Moore. Nice to meet you.”

* * *

Being sensible was an attractive quality to Averey – and she was sure that would not be a word people would use to describe her. It wasn’t sensible to allow someone to punch you in the face for fun. Yet, she still found herself spending every other morning at the gym, kickboxing. It also wasn’t sensible to find amusement in watching the FBI, this Behavioral Analysis Unit, barge into the room, time after time, attempting to get answers out of her.

It _definitely_ wasn’t sensible to laugh to herself as she witnessed the frustration, and overall feeling of doneness, emanating from S.S.A. Hotchner and his team. The way his dark eyes seemed to ablaze just at her smile told her that it was the wrong move. Even from the viewing room as he conversed with his team could she feel his hot gaze on her. Despite that, she had the underlying feeling that she hadn’t witnessed the full extent of said anger. But she wasn’t scared. This wasn’t the first time she was in a situation like this – it was the first with the FBI, sure, but this interrogation wouldn’t be her last.

Not if she did her job right. Yet, she also understood that frustration he was feeling. Telling the truth was the Golden Rule, wasn’t it? Only this time, it put herself and her job in jeopardy if she did just that.

The FBI had an investigation to complete and so did she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you read my fanfics for The Flash on FFN, you’ll recognize an OC in here: it’s the same OC, with the same name, but there are aspects of her that have been changed for this fandom, like the fact that she doesn’t have powers. Otherwise, introducing: Averey Moore!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> -Rhuben


	3. Standoff-Ish

**THREE**

Hotch massaged his temples with his fingertips, then clasped his hands behind the back of his head. “Ohhh, man,” he whispered. His words tumbling out of his mouth, carried away with the deep sigh he released.

Frustration wasn’t a rare feeling in this line of work.

Pressure pushed in on the Behavioral Analysis Unit from all sides at all times. From police units that were too stubborn to admit they needed the FBI’s help; to the families of those they help that feel like as if they aren’t doing enough in a fast enough time frame; to the pressure they put on themselves to close a case to the best of their abilities all the while more robberies, abductions, and killings take place around the United States. It was hard to decide which case was more important at the time than others.

It was a wonder they hadn’t turned pear shaped at this point. 

Giving opinions when you were standing on the outside looking in was easy. It was easy to say they weren’t doing their jobs diligently. Wondering why it was taking them so long to make an arrest. Why it looked like they were doing nothing. Telling them they weren’t doing enough. Weren’t doing things fast enough. They had the wrong person. And Hotch had to navigate his team through it all, all the while being the first line of defense for anyone back at Quantico telling him how he was to run his team, and even further, his own unit.

The most pressure definitely came from above them by Unit Chief Strauss. For years, she had done everything she could to shape the unit to what she felt was beneficial for the FBI. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t a bad thing; as Unit Chief, Strauss had a lot on her shoulders as she managed the BAU’s correspondence with other departments; the resources they were eligible to use for their cases; performance reviews; and so much more.

And, in some instances, it was in her opinion that it was better that the Behavioral Analysis Unit wasn’t operating the way Aaron Hotchner wanted it. The way it was already working. For she believed it could be even better. It was this mindset that made her target Hotch a time or two in the past, insisting he wasn’t the right man to run the unit in the way he chose to do so. It was for those reasons he knew to expect a scathing phone call in response to the message he had left her, giving her a status update on the case.

 _She’s hardly ever been out in the field_ , Hotch reminded himself, briefly closing his eyes. _She’s only reacting to the news you give her._ Hotch knew he had led his team to do their jobs the way they were taught, all with the information they were given. Still, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. They had arrested an undercover cop. A fellow member of law enforcement. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened; they had nearly taken in an officer working to protect a member of WitSec.

They were doing their jobs well in both instances, Hotch had to remember. Even if they hadn’t picked up on the fact that they were dealing with cops in both situations.

Though, in a way, it should have been obvious.

People were perceptive, noticing patterns in behavior. There were also some people who were just naturally more perceptive than others. Anyone could learn to develop it if they studied people long enough to notice patterns in behavior, and emotions. It could be something as noticeable as a morning routine, or the streets taken home from work, the order in which someone did their chores on the weekends. What stood out the most was the change in that pattern.

And Averey had quickly picked up on his and Reid’s. They had chosen to return to the same coffee shop, using the story of being new in town. The one diversion in their pattern, Hotch surmised, was asking about places she would recommend to others. Why would anyone need to know that, if at an earlier point they had outright stated they were only in the city for a couple of days for work? Hadn’t she, in fact, commented on the fact that the two of them were there longer than she had anticipated?

That wasn’t to say that they had messed up, that somewhere along the line they had given themselves away. They had too many years under their belt working different cases, and seamlessly falling in with many different types of people to have it be something that easy. It’s just that she had picked up on something others may have waved away. After all, a coffee before a long day of travel wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“Hey, Hotch.” The knocking on the doorframe had already grabbed Hotch’s attention, but it was Rossi’s voice that had him turning to face him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Captain Roth is here.” Morgan stepped further into the room and crossed his arms over his chest. Hotch mimicked him “Has Strauss called, yet?” He paused to crack a smile. “Though, if she had, I’m sure the answer would be written on your face.”

Hotch allowed a hint of a smile to come to his face. “Probably so,” he agreed. “Thank you, I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Aaron, you don’t have to take all this on,” Rossi said, his eyebrows coming towards each other. “We were all part of this, we all knew she was who we were looking for. The file we were given on this case pointed us in this direction.” He shrugged his shoulders, pulling his lips downwards in the corners. “She fit the profile.”

“Maybe too perfectly,” Hotch said.

“Undercovers are meant to be good at their jobs,” Rossi said. “They want everyone to believe how they present themselves. It wouldn’t be a dangerous position that wasn’t the case.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You think we’re the first ones to ever have a run-in with an undercover cop? It’s frustrating, but it happens. It shows that this situation is a priority to the city.”

“You’re right,” Hotch agreed, “St. Louis still has a growing increase in gang crime. I’ll go speak with Captain Roth, now.” Lifting his chin just slightly, Hotch set his mind back on the task at hand. He didn’t question his decisions often. This team needed a leader that could make the quick decisions and adjust to everything that was thrown at them, facing things head on.

That’s what he had done when he had initially heard the plan for Prentiss. It hurt his heart to know it had come to this point for his teammate. A dear friend was in danger, and from what little he knew about Ian Doyle, he knew that it was imperative that Prentiss get away from him any way possible. Still, it was a hard decision to make, knowing he was outright lying to his team for months. Knowing he was putting JJ in the same position.

He watched them mourn a death of one of the only people in the world that would ever understand what he was going through:

Morgan was angry, furious. That was evident with the look on his face the moment Hotch’s words had landed on heavy on his ears. Even more so when Prentiss entered the room. Horror. Pain. Happiness. Disbelief. Relief. It was all there, but it was the anger he continued to see in the depths of Morgan’s dark eyes, making them even darker than they had ever been. And, at the moment, it was that anger that kept him going. It was one thing he could control about any situation that he was in; about _this_ situation.

Reid, while incredibly happy to have Prentiss back, was also just so _crushed_ to hear the news. Crushed that the most important people in his life had lied for so long. Crushed that his best friend, on the team and in life, had watched him mourn all the while knowing the truth. Crushed that, despite understanding the reasoning behind it all – after all, he knew just how dangerous Ian Doyle was – he still had to live with the fact that he had been manipulated by the people that he knew and trusted the most. More importantly, they were the people that _understood_ him the most.

Garcia had always been and always would be a special girl. She could present some of the most gruesome cases they have ever worked on, and still have a smile on her face. She was proud of her work and wasn’t ashamed to show her emotions. He remembered at one time she thought she needed to keep her feelings in check to appear strong, but he thought she was at her strongest _because_ she wasn’t afraid to show her feelings. Still, as upset as she was with news of Prentiss’s death to begin with, she welcomed Prentiss back with open arms, and let everything else go. Just like the cases, she chose to focus on the positives. Even now, Hotch was sure he could see a hint of tears of happiness in Garcia’s eyes whenever Prentiss stepped into the conference room.

Rossi, as usual, understood. And Hotch would never be able to fully explain to him how much he appreciated that. Just like the others, he was disappointed in the decision, and even had called Hotch out behind closed doors on how matter of fact, and straight he revealed the information. But he understood. It wasn’t news that was easy to give, and they still had a very important case they needed to close. And just like now, and since the reveal, he had been by Hotch’s side. Maybe attempting to serve as a bridge between Hotch and JJ, and the rest of the team, but it helped. To have someone to, finally, speak to about this, besides JJ felt really good.

It felt good to have his whole team back together. It would feel even better if it didn’t feel like they were only being a team, being a family, when they were clocked in to work.

“You must be Agent Hotchner.” Captain Roth turned towards Hotch, the end of his bushy mustache fluttering with each breath. The white shirt stretched tightly over his chest loosened just slightly when he offered Hotch his hand. Hotch clasped it in his own, giving a hearty shake in greeting. “I’m Captain Roth; 5th District.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Upon releasing his grip on Captain Roth’s hand, Hotch motioned towards Rossi. “This is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi.”

“I understand you arrested one of my officers in an operation last night.”

“Yes, sir,” Hotch replied with a nod of his head. “She’s still in the interrogation room.”

“Right, right,” Captain Roth said with a nod. He put his hands on his hips and let out a deep sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet with you all in the conference room, get this all sorted out.” He angled his head towards the floor, shaking his head back and forth. He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then we can figure out how to make sure a screw up like this _doesn’t happen again._ ”

Hotch merely blinked at the hard edge Captain Roth’s tone suddenly took. He could have heads of police departments angry at him for “interfering” in their cases, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. After years of having Strauss on his back, opposition wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Being a lawyer had helped prepare him for that. Being a lawyer, to him, was more so learning how to think, and how to research. As part of the B.A.U., a good portion of Hotch’s research was conducted with his eyes. Sure, this Captain was angry about a case he was working on inadvertently being delayed, but it was more so the loss of control of the situation he was most frustrated with.

He could relate.

“Of course, sir,” Hotch replied. “We will get the rest of the team and meet you in there.”

“May as well get out guest, too,” Rossi said, “let her know her captain has come to ‘bail her out’. Though, I think a little extra time in there would do her some good.” Turning to find their team, Hotch gave Rossi a curious look. “Did you see how she was in there? Like this was all just a game? That smile? Sheesh, I think that’s worse than being beaten at chess by the kid.” Rossi used his fingertips to rub at his goatee. “At least she wasn’t as smug about it. Reid has made the decision for me to never play against him again _very_ easy.”

Hotch laughed through his nose. He led the way to the bull pen where his team was waiting. JJ was the first to notice them.

“What’s going on, Hotch?” JJ asked, immediately getting to her feet. She was a new profiler. With her background as the Communications Liaison, she was a natural in the new role. JJ knew how to work well with others, to ask questions and to relate to people. She wanted to do a good job, that was evident. She was eager. Eager to be the best person she could be; an agent and a mother. She was wringing her hands. “Has Strauss called?”

“Yeah, how much trouble are we actually in?” Prentiss asked. She gave a hint of a toothy smile. Partially joking. Partially nervous. It wasn’t that long that they had their suspension status revoked, after all.

“That’s still to be determined,” Rossi said.

“Uh oh,” Reid said quietly, a troubled look appearing on his face.

“Captain Roth of the 5th District is here,” Hotch said, sliding his hands into his deep pockets. The position of his hip holster, while he was used to it by now, still meant he had to hold his elbow at an unnatural angle by his side. “He wishes to speak with us about why we arrested one of his officers.”

Morgan briefly closed his eyes, shifting his weight in the direction of the door. “Let’s get going then,” he said, sighing through his nose. With his shoulders rolled back he led the way to the conference room. Morgan had always been a confident leader. Hotch had recognized that about him very early on. It was no wonder he had been selected to be Acting Unit Chief not too long ago.

“…ruined everything, Captain.”

“Look, if it wasn’t you that busted you, it could have been someone from this district,” Captain Roth was saying as the B.A.U. stepped into the conference room. “Someone you previously arrested could have been there. The important thing is, that you did what you were supposed to.”

Captain Roth’s gaze shifted over towards Averey, directing the eyes of everyone else in the room. Even now, as Hotch looked over at the detective as she leaned in the corner of the conference room, her gaze held steady out the window, he could see it. That she was part of law enforcement. Could see it in the way she stood; with her hands in front of her, visible at all times. Her right hand grasped her left wrist. Then, a moment later she shifted, and moved her forearms to rest on her hips, hands curled in towards her abdomen.

“I’ve already introduced Agent Rossi,” Hotch said, clearing his throat, “this is the rest of my team; SSAs Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid.” They all lifted their hands when their names were called.

“Nice to meet you,” Captain Roth said with a nod. “You all know Detective Moore; one of our officers in our Gang Unit.” He clapped his hands together in front of him, the sound a loud _pop_ in the otherwise quiet room. “So, I think we can all agree that we can all move forward together from here. Right?”

“Yes, that’s the best we can do going forward,” Hotch said. “We only want to help.”

“Wait about, 22 more minutes or so?” Captain Roth said, turning towards Averey, wiggling two fingers in the air. “Then, head back to the station.” He gave a wry smile. “Best to get started on that paperwork as early as you can.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys. He mimed tossing them before throwing it across the room to Averey.

“Understood, Captain,” she said, snatching the keys out of the air.

“And then as soon as you’re done with that, I’m going to recommend you go on leave.”

“I— _what_?” The keys she had just caught slipped out of her hand, landing on the floor with a dull _crunch_ , as she stared at her boss in horror. “Mate, you can’t be bloody serious.”

“The longer you’ve been on this case, the wider it’s been opened,” Captain Roth explained in an even tone. “It comes with the territory, but you also haven’t brought us anything to get one step closer to closing it. So, I asked for this to be pushed up to the F.B.I.”

“If I hadn’t been pinched last night—"

“And when was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” Averey’s mouth closed. Instead of answering, she bent to grab the keys and held it tight in her fist. “I think a week off will do you well.” Averey nodded. “Agent Hotchner, I look forward to continued work with you. Anything to keep my city safe.”

Hotch accepted his offered hand a second time. “It’s our pleasure.”

Captain Roth nodded before turning back towards Averey. “20 minutes.”

“Yes, Captain.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. “Ok, I’ll bite,” Prentiss said, “what are you waiting for?”

“You think anyone would believe an arrested gangbanger would be released from custody so quickly?” Averey asked, lifting an eyebrow. Sighing, she pushed away from the wall, dropping her arms down to her sides. Her keys hung loosely from her finger. “Look, my department can get me in and out of custody in no time, but no one would ever believe I worked the streets if I did. I have to play the part all the way.”

“Ah, I see,” Rossi said, slowly nodding. “That’s smart.”

“So, we agree?” Averey asked, eyebrows shooting up. “I do my job well.” Hotch’s eyebrows came towards each other, eyes narrowing slightly at her impatient tone. She didn’t wait for any of them to answer her. “Then why are you in my city? I’ve been working this case for months, and last night’s surveillance operation was planned for ages. And it was bloody thrown all away in _seconds_.” She put a hand to her chest. “Excuse me for not chomping at the bit to returning to my district just to get a load of bloody paperwork done.”

“Look, we get it,” Morgan commented, putting his hands up defensively. “I used to work undercover, myself. It’s a tough position, and anything can fall apart at any moment. It’s more stress than anyone could imagine. But you have to know we didn’t do this on purpose.”

There was a pregnant pause then. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Prentiss also knew, first-hand, just how stressful an undercover job could be. They all did to some degree, whether personally, or in a peripheral case. It was easy to play the part to incite a confession in the moment – Hotch still held a bit of guilt for saying the words he said, the actions he took, for Reid to get a shot on their UnSub; a Long-Distance Serial Killer. But to become a whole new identity for months? Years? That was harder.

“We’ve been asked to take on this case,” Hotch explained, getting to the point. “There has been a striking rise in gang violence in this city, I’m sure you’re well aware of. Numerous recent criminal activities, bank robberies, break ins, it has all had responsibility taken by the Black Hearts.” 

“Which is why I’m on this job,” Averey replied. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Believe me, mate, the Black Hearts are the least of your worries. They’re just one part of a system that we’ve been keeping an eye on; it’s a faction of a larger group.”

“How long have you been on this case for?”

“Long enough,” Averey said, reaching for the dropped keys. “I reckon whatever your file has on me is way more exciting than surveillance and stake outs.” She brushed her hair out of her face as she stood. Glancing back out the window, she made an impatient noise with her tongue, and started spinning they keys around her finger. “Can I get my belongings back now or what?” I’m ready to go, so if you have any more questions, you’ll have to get the answers at my office.”

“Prentiss, could you go see where we are about getting Detective Moore her belongings back from evidence lock up?” Hotch asked.

“Of course,” Prentiss replied.

Hotch reached into his pocket for his phone. Still no message from Strauss. It was probably better this way; he could get more information for her for when she did call. For in these past few minutes, he was starting to build a new profile of Detective Averey Moore. He couldn’t just let anyone around his unit. He needed to make a call to Garcia; if anyone could figure out who, exactly, they were working with, it was her.

Hotch also needed more time to figure out how to answer the question that Garcia was undoubtedly going to ask: Is she nice? He wasn’t sure. But it looked like she was going to be the one they would need to liaison between the police department and the FBI.

If he were being honest, he didn’t know how nice he would be to anyone that hindered one of his cases, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok! You will have more from other points of view from here going forward. I am enjoying writing Hotch and attempting to understand him more regarding the hard choices he makes as the Unit Chief – especially in relation to his decision to help keep Prentiss safe. I’m also looking forward to exploring that more with the other characters, too.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to check out this story.
> 
> -Rhuben


	4. Details, Details

**FOUR**

Aaron watched as Averey breezed past her fellow officers upon arriving back at her district's police station. Whether that was due to her want to get past all the light ribbing she knew she'd get from her fellow officers, or to get him and his team on their way was quickly as possible, he wasn't sure. Even in serious cases, humor, as dark as it could reach, helped himself and his fellow get through the toughest times. Whether it involved the case or someone's personal life, it was almost expected.

He was sure to overhear something once back in Virginia. A law enforcement agent arresting another member of law enforcement? The joke almost set itself up as easily as "two police officers walked into a doughnut shop." He was sure sometime after all of this – after a long talk with Strauss he could look forward to, and whenever the case reached its conclusion – even he would be able to find some humor in the situation.

Still, he could understand the tightness in Averey's jaw, the rigidity of her shoulders, and unnatural straightness of her spine. Her clipped words as she gave directions on how to find the police station before giving a simple, "just follow me." His own body was contorted the same way. They were both frustrated at what had transpired. They both had cases they were working on fall apart in front of their eyes. Not that it was entirely unusual; even before the FBI was asked to take part in an active case, police closing a case wasn't always something that occurred as quickly as television shows made it out to be – even with the B.A.U.'s track record of closing cases quickly. Law enforcement could be pouring over information, prior recorded interviews, and revisiting crime scenes for months before an arrest was made.

Even then, with the B.A.U., there was still the task of having to decide which case to take on. Whether it was Strauss, or JJ, or even Aaron himself letting the team know the details of the next case they were taking on, there was still the harsh reality to face that they were effectively pushing aside someone else's ongoing case to do so. So many people in the world needed help gaining closure, to feel safe once again. And, unfortunately, accepting that not having closure was, in fact, closure end was hard for many to accept.

 _As hard as it's been to accept how everything with Foyet ended._ The thought slammed into Aaron's head before he could stop it. A grunt of pain, anguish, and surprise rumbled deep in his throat. He turned his head, aware that everyone had looked around at him; Averey cast a curious, yet quick, glance at him over her shoulder as she made a beeline across the parking lot to the front doors of the police station. Curling his hands into fists at his sides, he quickly slid them into his pockets. He cleared his throat.

After Foyet threatened his family, killed Haley, all of his training went out the window. A roar in his head blocked out all thoughts. All he saw was red. Redder than the blood that spilled out of Foyet's nose and mouth as his fists split his skin open. Redder than the blood stains he couldn't fully remove from his clothing. That he could still see on any flooring if he let his mind wander enough. Wander enough to wonder if Foyet's death was the best ending for that case. _What if I had just arrested him? What if he just rots in prison for the rest of his life?_

It wouldn't bring Haley back, he knew. Whether he was dead, or in prison, in both instances he would forever know Foyet's location. Two iterations of hell – right where he belonged.

The second he had heard Haley's voice on Foyet's call, he knew what the outcome undoubtedly would be. He knew Foyet too well to ever think he would show an ounce of leniency. Still, he worked through that terror that rapidly built in his body, the feeling of powerlessness, the overwhelming dread of what he would come across, to make it to her as quickly as he could. To explain to her every single thing he could ever say to her without pulling Foyet's attention, pushing all of his emotions into his words. To get her to understand. That he loved her. That he always had and always would. And most of all, how truly sorry he was. For everything.

It was that same deep-rooted feeling of that built in his chest every time he looked at his team. Seeing how fractured they were now, and how they did their best to bandage it back together while in the vicinity of each other. And all due to a decision to help keep an integral member of their team safe. He would make that very same decision over and over again if it meant saving someone's life. But it was still hard to see his family once again become so fractured. And, once again, it was his actions that led to it.

He didn't think there were enough words in the English language to express how much remorse he held for his team and what he's witnessed them go through over the years. And he was equally proud. They knew it was part of the job; they took risks chasing down criminals every day. And every day they put everything else behind to come to work, ready to put their full attention on the next pressing case. He couldn't ask for a better group of people to be a part of his team.

It was a baby's car seat that really pulled Aaron's attention. As they passed the personal cars in the parking lot, he managed to gleam a bit about the people that worked in this building: those that kept their cars immaculate both inside and out, those who had bulky items shoved into the backseat or trunk, those whose seats bore the weight of extra clothes and shoes; and those that had wrappers on the seats, crumbs in the carpet, and the car seat installed in the back. How often had he made sure anything with Jack's name, or even depicted his child was hidden from view? To ensure the safety of his son? His family? It was a reminder of what they all were working for; to keep their families and their communities safe. A reminder of who was waiting for him to make it home safely.

"Up the stairs, straight up the aisle, fourth desk to your left," Averey dictated, using her foot to hold open the front door of the police station. She waved her hand in a continuous circle, motioning them inside. "If one of these blokes doesn't get the door for you, I'll be right behind you, yeah?" she said, stepping over to the big desk across the room from the doors to talk to the officer standing behind it.

"We'll just get as much information as we can about the Black Hearts before we head out," Aaron explained to his team. "Strauss will want me to update her as soon as I can. Better to bring her as much information on the case as possible. It may not be the closure she wanted, but it's something."

"Guess we should all be happy she's no longer trying to get you removed from the team, eh, Hotch?" JJ asked with a hint of a smile.

He managed to let out a small laugh trough his nose. "We're giving her enough ammunition now if she wanted to prove a point," he commented. Apparent disorganization was Strauss's main driving force behind Strauss's prior surveillance of the B.A.U. He could understand, in this moment, if anyone were to say the same thing now. Reid may have started to think the same thing as his eyebrows came towards each other in a crease, a small frown on his face. Aaron lifted a calming hand in the air. "You all have nothing to worry about. You were doing your jobs and following my instructions. Which is what I expect of you every time."

Though, admittedly, a part of him didn't know how he was going to go about explaining all of this to her. And he didn't want to begin to try and explain. He was already anticipating her " _How could this happen_?" asked in her commanding and tight vocal tone. This would be followed by pacing, her lips tightening so much the color was drained from them. It was almost like being lectured by a parent. And, admittedly, sometimes it did feel like it. But he had every confidence in his team to go to bat for them every time.

"You guys need to get up?" an officer asked, speeding his normal gait to hurry to meet the group at the door. He plucked at the lanyard hanging out of his pocket and pressed his badge up against the black card reader situated by the door. The red light pulsed green and unlocked with a _click_. "Are you meeting someone?" the officer asked as he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.

"We're waiting for Detective Moore, she told us to meet her at her desk," Morgan said, giving the man a nod of thanks.

"You're that group from the FBI," the officer said, looking them over. His lips briefly twitched up wards into a smile before they settled back into a neutral expression. "You're the ones who pinched Detective Moore."

"News moves fast around here," Rossi commented, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well," the officer shrugged, "everyone always gets pretty jumpy around here whenever the anniversary of that school shooting comes around. Especially with that kid that you guys managed to snatch up running around here." The officer shook his head back and forth. "Every year people have been coming from across the United States just trying to get a picture of the city, and the school where everything went down. Knowing we've got the FBI around; it's got people wondering just what's going on around here. And to hear you're also investigating the Black Hearts?" He shrugged. "Could get people up in arms, even more. Detective Moore has been helping with the case for ages, it must be worse than we all thought if the FBI is here."

"Well, that's what we're here to find out," Prentiss reassured him. "As long as we're here, we'd like to help out any way we can." She gave him a curious look. "So, these Black Hearts have been a real problem in the city."

"And growing," the police officer agreed with a solemn nod. Shifting his body closer to the doorway, he used his side to hold it open. He crossed is arms over his chest and lifted a hand to stroke his goatee. "Have been for years. The kids are always warned about them, to not stay out late, don't go to a certain part of town. Don't stay home alone if you can manage. That kind of thing. Be careful of who they hang out with. There's been a growing number of break-ins and robberies."

"How do you know it's all tied to this one gang, though?" Prentiss asked.

"They practically leave a bloody holiday card on the way out, don't they?" Averey said, walking up behind them. She angled her head towards the stairs and lead the way up. Aaron quickly thanked the officer before falling into step behind her. "And if they had any, they'd steal the holiday prezzies to boot."

"How do you mean?" Rossi asked.

"Whatever way they and fund themselves, really. Drugs being the easiest. Robberies and break-ins are usually their M.O., though," Averey explained." Bigger risk, bigger reward, yeah?" Aaron noticed her keeping her back towards them as she talked. "Perfectly planned, in and out in the timetable they give themselves. They target anything from your average retailer, to any house you could point to in the suburbs. Mainly going after those that they need to collect an outstanding debt for."

"Well, it's come to reason that targets are chosen specifically because they have some sort of power over that group," Reid explained, his voice echoing around the stair well, "because they have shown to have some sort of capability of throwing a wrench into whatever it is that group is trying accomplish. Money equals power to a lot of people."

"Maybe there is some truth to people saying never loaning friends any money," Morgan joked.

"Yeah, well, everyone is your mate until you decide they're not," Averey said with a short laugh. The first, small, break in her straightforward demeanor. Just like the smile she gave when revealing to them her true identity.

It bothered a part of Aaron then, and it did so now. It was almost like it was a joke to her. Or she wasn't taking it seriously. On the other hand, he could recognize someone that didn't want their help. They had witnessed it with a handful of police departments before; captains and sergeants reluctant to hand over cases, stubbornly thinking it'd make their decision, their leadership look bad.

The fact of the matter was, when it came down to it, they were all on the same side.

They came up to Averey's desk and she tossed her keys on top of the keyboard to her computer, barely glancing at the papers that were knocked form their position and slid towards the floor. She then perched herself on the edge of her desk and let on just how exhausted she must have been feeling for her shoulders dropped, her feet planted firmly on the floor as if they were the only things holding her up, and she let out a long sigh as she reached for the tissue box to start removing the heavy eyeliner she still bore.

"For the more high-profile cases, though, the ones in the more glamorous suburbs, they make sure to leave a lasting impression," Averey continued her explanation, scrubbing at her eyes. "They always target the head of the household, gets them off on their own, threatens them if they talk, and then they brand them." She swallowed. "Sometimes kill if they deem it necessary. And they can manage all of that in the time they need."

"On average, how much time do you think they give themselves?" Prentiss asked.

"However long they need," Averey said with a shrug. Her face contorted into a look as if she was silently asking why she was being asked a dumb question like that. "It varies. Long enough to get things done, short enough to not draw attention from neighbors."

"So, whomever they target, they've spent a great deal of time studying them," Aaron said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Learning their routines, who they are, where they work, when would be the best time to strike."

"And they've deemed their target a person who has wronged the in some way," Prentiss added. "Whether that's a monetary reason, feeling slighted for something…" She lifted a hand and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "We've all seen it; the smallest sign of disrespect could be the trigger to an even bigger chain reaction."

"How are the victims branded?" JJ asked.

Aaron's eyebrows came towards each other as he watched Averey crumple the tissues in her hand and cross her arms over her chest, tugging up the sleeves of her coat. One side, up to her elbow, the other barely up her forearm.

"Depends," Averey replied after a beat of silence. "Could be a high-degree laser cutter. They could have it carved into them with a knife or something. Reckon it depends on the timing, and the person tasked to do it."

"It'd have to be a pretty powerful laser," Reid spoked up. "The skin is made up of three layers, the epidermis, the dermis, and the subcutaneous. If you really want something to scar, you'll have to cut through the first two layers of the skin, and at least damage the third. And, with scar tissue, you'd have to have a pretty steady hand to make sure it's legible, otherwise the scar tissue would just grow in the spaces." His eyes lit up for a moment, and he said, "Branding has actually become an art style offered in some tattoo shops, nowadays. Those who do it are referred to as skin artists."

"And people wonder why I don't understand the past times of the generations that come after me," Rossi said after a moment of silence.

"So, we're dealing with someone that gets off on hurting others," Aaron said. "Branding someone is a pretty intimate form of inflicting pain."

"So, which method did you choose?" Morgan asked.

Averey's lips twitched. "Emotional pain tickles my fancy," she said, flatly.

"Women do feel pain more intensely than men," Reid commented. "It's why, in the case of women serial killers, they're bound to go after people they're familiar with more than a stranger. For example, those that marry often, only to kill their husbands to gain access to their finances. If you know someone well, you can target them more adequately."

Averey blinked. "Do I look like a serial killer to you?" she asked.

"Oh, well, um," Reid pressed his lips together.

"You always hear about the mean girls, but not the mean boys," Prentiss added. "Unless you were popular, they were the ones to avoid. They knew exactly what to do or say to get under your skin. Make you feel like you'll never do, or say, or wear the right thing." She looked over at Averey who was now attempting to lay her hair flat with her hands and answered her question, "Anyone walking down the street could be a serial killer."

"True, but even I could pinpoint a potential gangbanger if I pay close enough attention," Averey replied. "You lot build profiles on serial killers, surely there's some sort of pattern you can find in any man or woman you suspect of being one." She blinked, a look of realization appearing across her face. "You said I fit a profile..."

"You do fit the profile," Hotch explained. Now it was his turn to be somewhat amused at the situation they were in. They had the upper hand. "But we weren't building a profile on a serial killer."

Averey's hands stilled in her hair. A confused look came across her face as she slowly lowered them to cross her arms over her chest once again. She said very slowly, "I don't understand." Her eyes narrowed as she looked around at the B.A.U. "You were looking for me the whole time?"

"Not necessarily," Aaron replied. "I can agree that you have, in fact, done your job well enough for us to believe that you were a part of this. We weren't targeting anyone higher up, we were looking for anyone that fit the profile of being more of a submissive type, that takes directions instead of giving them, maybe is the type to take upon the less tasks; like communicating threats of debt collection. A conversation like that wouldn't want to be held in a place where you could easily be overheard. A noisy bar on the other hand, would be ideal."

"And you managed to sus out which one I'd potentially attend by asking me what places I'd recommend to new blokes in the city," Averey said, catching on. Aaron nodded. "Smart."

"Do you travel a lot? Or do you like to travel?" Reid suddenly asked. "Not with your job, but…recreationally? You don't spend a lot of time at your desk."

Averey blinked repeatedly at the sudden question. "I did," she said, shortly. "Both when I was in school, and whenever I had the time. Why?"

"Stacks of files, desk is cluttered, the room is fairly cold, but you don't seem to have a coat or anything on your chair to keep yourself warm," Reid listed off, looking around the space. "Framed coins from different countries. After your arrest, you didn't seem too concerned with having anyone bail you out, so from that I can gleam you're pretty independent. You also have both a backpack and a jump bag behind your desk. Unlike the other phones in here, yours doesn't have any voicemails as you're not in here often enough to be reached by phone." He angled his head towards the coffee mugs situated at the corner of her desk, on her right side. "You have coffee mugs, but it's filled with candy, one I haven't seen sold here in America just by quick glance, so I don't think you use them regularly."

"And the coffee shop?" Averey asked with a blink.

"It's not unheard of for law enforcement to have a second job," Reid replied with a shrug. "Security, landscaping, teaching. But working in a coffee shop puts many people in front of you. A perfect place for quick conversation if, and when needed. In addition, it'd be the perfect place for you to get an idea of a person's daily routine. And, you profiled Hotch and I pretty well the few days we came in." Averey didn't respond and he pressed on eagerly. "You always wrote the names of your customers on items sold during transactions, you would have also had the time to write a message to someone; what time to meet, and where, who the next target of the Black Hearts would be, just any updates you might need to relay to your point of contact."

For a moment, all Averey did was stare at Reid. Her face didn't give anything away, but Aaron noticed the slight uptick of her eyebrows, the shadow of movement of her mouth, the corners pulling downwards. He was correct. She was impressed. Then, her gaze suddenly shifted past them and she declared in a loud, carrying voice, " _Oi! Stop eating my candy_."

At once, Aaron and the rest of his team turned towards the man that was departing the office on the other side of the room.

"Stop leaving it out where anyone can take it," the young man replied with a snort, lifting an eyebrow. He then shook his head back and forth, muttering a quiet, "Unbelievable." He smacked the folder he gripped in one hand, into the palm of the other. "I thought Captain put you on leave."

"As soon as I'm done here, I'm on my way," Averey replied.

The young man nodded, humming. "Dad's been wondering when you were going to visit."

"Couldn't exactly do that while undercover, could I? Ellie and Daniel have been saying the same. You haven't stopped by in a while."

Instead of responding, the young man lifted his chin to indicate the group standing by the door. "They with you?"

"FBI," Averey replied with a nod.

"Ah, the ones that picked you up?" the officer asked with a hint of a teasing smile. "You're losing your touch?"

Averey suddenly plastered on an over the top, sweet smile. "I reckon about the same way you managed to miss the Pluto question at trivia night last," she said.

"I got excited, ok? And _technically_ , I was still correct."

"I'm just saying," Averey lifted her hands in the air, "don't claim it as your trivia area and then blow it."

"We still won!"

Averey waved her hand in the air, and then indicated between the young man and the B.A.U with her pinky and thumb. "Boone Anderson, this SSAs Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, JJ Jareau, Emily Prentiss, and Dr. Spencer Reid. This is Boone, forensic scientist."

"Nice to meet you." Boone shook everyone's hand before quickly clasping it to his chest to catch the candy bar that Averey had plucked out of the coffee mug that sat on her desk and threw at him. "Thanks. _Now_ you want to share?"

"I'm being nice today."

Aaron reached into his pocket, feeling his phone start to vibrate against his chest. Excusing himself from the group, he sighed inwardly when he saw Erin Strauss's name flash on his caller ID. "Hotchner," he said as soon as he answered the phone. "I've got some more information from you concerning the case."

"I appreciate you keeping me updated, Aaron, but this will not reflect well on us," Erin replied in her clipped voice.

"Yes, I understand," Aaron replied, holding back the heavy sigh of annoyance and frustration that had threatened to expel from his chest the second he heard her voice. "It is unfortunate, but Detective Moore has been a great help to us. She's given us an M.O. on the Black Hearts, an idea of those they target, and a general idea of the type of person in

"But she hasn't given you anything about the head of the Black Hearts, or who to go after to break up this gang?"

Aaron hesitated. "Not at the moment, no. I'm sure with more time, we'll figure out, who, exactly would allow the whole operation to fall apart. You know as well as I do that there will always be someone who"

Erin sighed. "Ok, Aaron, I'm asking you to shift your attention from his case." Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but Erin continued on. "We have something more pressing. You're not going far; this case is also in St. Louis. Child abduction, a little boy named Bobby Smith has disappeared from outside a residential area his mother had dropped him off at."

"Age?"

"Nine years old. This case is more pressing at the moment, Aaron. Whatever information you have on the gang case, you can relay it all to me. And Garcia will fill you in on this new case." Erin paused for a moment. "Surely, you can understand that this is more of a pressing matter."

"Yes, of course. How long has he been missing?"

"Over 48 hours."

Aaron bowed his head. Removing his phone from his ear he pressed his fingertips of his free hand to his brow bone. That was too much time. His heart would jump into his throat when he couldn't find Jack for five seconds only to find him hiding in the clothing racks. 48 hours? He didn't know how he'd manage that. Let alone, this child's mother.

"I'll contact Garcia and get more information right now," Aaron replied. "I'll tell the team." Without waiting for Erin's response, he jabbed his thumb into the END button on his phone. Pressing so hard, his thumb hurt. For a moment, he gripped his phone tightly in his hand before sliding it into the breast pocket of his coat. He then turned around, cleared his throat, and stepped back over towards his team. "We've got another case we have to investigate," he announced. He watched as they shared confused looks. "Garcia has all of the information for us: abducted child, a boy, nine years old, has been missing for over two days."

Morgan blinked. "He's been gone this long, and we're _just now_ being told about it?" he asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Nevertheless, it's the case we're working now," Aaron replied. "It's still here in St. Louis, so we're not going far. We'll just see if we can use a conference room here, or head back to the hotel to get in touch with Garcia." He motioned for his team to follow him.

"The conference room should be open," Boone suggested, tucking the manila folder under his arm. "Just check with the officer at the security desk."

"Thank you." Aaron gave a tight smile before making his way down the stairs. He glanced at his team over his shoulder, silently relaying to them that they were not to say a word. Not until they were granted access to the conference room, did he wheel around to tell them, "We need to get started on locating this missing boy. But we're not fully pulled from this case."

JJ paused for a fraction of a second, pulling the door closed behind them and said, "I take it she wasn't too enthused about what you told her?"

"Strauss wouldn't know enthusiasm if it popped out of a birthday cake," Prentiss said with a scoff. Her lips twitched into a pleased smile at the quiet laughs that went around the group. Rossi managed to turn his into a convincing cough, scratching at a spot behind his ear with his finger.

Even Aaron almost allowed a laugh to slip through despite the tightening of his lips. Still, there was an important task at hand. He reached towards the center of the table and moved to reach Garcia.

"I'm not questioning what we've been directed," Reid spoke up, "but what are we going to do about _this_ case?"

"We'll continue to let SLMPD handle it," Aaron replied. "Of course, we'll check in, see if they're making any leeway." His fingers flew around the numeric keypad. "Keep our channels open to consult, give them any help they may ask for."

"Got it." Reid nodded.

"Hello, my chickadees," Garcia's cheerful voice greeted them after the second ring.

"Garcia, you've got details of the new case for us? Strauss just told me about Bobby Smith."

"That, I do, sir. That I do."

* * *

Averey reached into one of her coffee mugs and retrieved the yellow and blue packaged chocolate bar from it. Unwrapping it, she clutched it in her fist and took a bite of the top of the koala bear shaped head, a string of caramel stretching until it broke, coming to a rest on her chin. For a moment, the room was silent save for her and Boone's chewing.

"So, who are they looking for?" Boone asked, using the side of his hand to wipe the chocolate from his lips.

"Not sure," Averey replied, shifting her gaze from the door to him. "No one specifically, I don't think. Not yet, anyway. Apparently, 'I fit the profile' of someone they were looking for." Boone gave her a confused look. "Think about it, Bo: there's always one person in a violent group you have a better chance of getting through to. The newest member, someone looking to get out." She took another bite of chocolate and said around her chewing, "As long as they don't get in my way, they can do whatever they want."

"Like arrest you?" Boone lifted an eyebrow.

"A minor setback." For a moment she grit her teeth, her annoyance and frustration quickly building. Then she relaxed. For Dr. Reid had been correct: she could give a time and location for anyone she wanted to meet up with. In fact, she had, and was waiting to meet with her contact before the FBI had shown up and arrested her. By now, they would have come to understand that something had gone wrong. "I can admit that."

"Whatever you say," Boone replied.

"It'll be fine. Trust me. I'll figure it out. I'll figure _her_ out."

"You'll figure her out, if she _wants_ you to find her, you mean," Boone pointed out, exhaling a cloud of chocolate breath around his chewing. "Just let the FBI help. Tell them everything you now. They want to stop this from happening as much as you do. Slowing down their case isn't going to help anything."

"They're the ones slowing _me_ down." Boone let out a short sigh through his nose and Averey waved her hand in the air.

"They have resources we don't, Ave. Besides, with you going on leave, someone has to keep the case going."

"All right, all right. I hear you. But, believe me," she said, "I was onto her. She doesn't like going a long time without witnessing her work first-hand." Boone bobbed him head back and forth, humming in agreement. "Sooner or later, she'll make sure everybody knows what she's up to." She swallowed thickly, licking chocolate from her lips. "I believe she's accelerated."

"What do you mean?"

Averey scratched at her forearm before crossing her arms over her chest. "Which do you think is more permanent?" she asked, a thoughtful look coming to her face. "Disfiguration or death? I've been hearing things: branding people isn't doing it for her anymore. Threatening people to keep quiet is too easy. But watching someone die? That'll last a long time."

"Yeah," Boone quietly agreed, a solemn look crossing his face. "I get it." He, in fact, had first-hand experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so there was one more chapter from Hotch's point of view, but it does round out the start of the fic so here we are! Thank you all for being so patient. My days have gotten busy very quickly over the past few weeks. I'm hoping to us writing as a break from it all as the weeks go on.
> 
> -Rhuben


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